christmas blogpost#14

With a dazed glance, I found myself in the comforts of my speeding car on the night before Christmas. The murky skies awaited the waking dawn as I drove further under the moonlight. With the lamps as my guiding light, I took a moment to wander my gaze atop the festive decorations on the warm homes around me. A joyous emotion resonated off these lovely lights. As I faded into my consciousness, the stereo embraced me with my favorite indie rock song. I pondered about my destination for the night and it came to me as a weak knock on the door. Finding myself at a dimly lit doorstep. My face barely visibly under the hanging star, giving off emanations as a late guest to this old couple’s cozy living. Grunts and grizzles were heard as a man, frail in movement, made his way indifferently to answer the door at 04:00 in the morning. It was an hour early to his usual rise, yet I was hours away from home.

We don’t talk much, the old man and I. The feelings we share for one another outweigh any clock or night. Perhaps we’re both too stubborn to express, maybe we’re simply too distant in our own cases. The door creaks open as the first few words I hear as signs of an acting disgruntlement. I lay gaze onto the man emerging out of the darkness to meet me under the same dimly lit star. Our faces shined with a red hue, flavoring the moment with the Christmas theme. I was no early Santa. For him, being unable to recognize my countenance was smoothly understood. This marked me with angst, trying to recall when my last visit was. Neither of us could quantify it. His memory has been losing the fight against his age and my facial attributes has struggled the battles of puberty.

My fingertips grazed against the torn envelope I have in my chilly grasp. A man from the bygone era where postcards flourished, in all his eighty plus years of life has never missed to send Christmas greetings ever since my birth. With a swift gesture, my palm rose to reveal the postcard to him. Following the smile that curled onto the edges of his lips, I uttered my first few words that have been long awaited by the old man. “Merry Christmas, Grandpa.” I noticed his brown orbs lazily shut as he took in his moment of reunion, one that we both awaited years for. I yearned to be his present on the night before Christmas as the man of the past opened his arms to my sides for an embrace. We shed no tears of joy but our hearts felt one another in a soft gesture of endearment. I froze in time as we momentarily became a single entity of unconditional love.

After sharing a few seconds to help us memorize that moment, he took his time to pivot and welcome me to our hall. I slipped the postcard into my jacket and rummaged through it to safeguard my gift I have brought for the loving old couple. I felt the first glimmer of light sneak through the open doorway with the dawn of Christmas blues. Taking the first steps into my home, I left the door wide for the morning breeze to accompany us.

dancers blogpost#13

my imagination dances along the many ways of kissing you

right from thieving your breath, to savouring your lips on mine

by mingling our essence, i infuse my desires for you

only to discover my mind isn’t the only one dancing

we give birth to a harmony of pure emotion 

something that our sanity shies away from

for we are fiery sparks that form majestic lightning

but only together, with the heat we ensue

Addiction Blogpost#11

I know you’ve asked me this before, and I’ve always had the same answer for you. It’s riddled in uncertainty with a pinch of all the good things Professor Utonium added into the Power Puff Girls, served at the right amount of warmth. She gives me a feeling of comfort that’s unmatched even by my favourite blanket. I’m a simple person, I admire and crave her in very primal ways. Her scent, her taste, her warmth, her hair, and most importantly, her eyes. Fucking galaxies are long lost in them and the feeling of completeness is very often felt around her. It’s like she’s the moon orbiting my earth, the pull I need to get my axis in the right place. Always around, always mine. Just the way I prefer, my lovely little secret addiction.

Stranger Blogpost#10

We have all experienced our fair share of what “strange” is. often described as the unexplainable or uncommon, strangeness lurks amongst us everywhere. strangeness is often associated with normality and i once read a quote that kicked my world off axis, a thought provoking few words combined together to question everything that we believe is normal. “what is normal for the spider is chaos for the ant”.  you could ask yourself where the boundaries of normal lies but how much ever you push those boundaries towards the supernatural, you cannot experience my experience as normal. 

a stranger came into my life as a visitor. i wasn’t so easy on noticing it but eventually my perception wasn’t willing to ignore the phenomena anymore and that was the first reveal. imagine you and another friend of yours are casually spending time in your house, doing the things you like doing and talking the things you like talking. everything seems normal but it isn’t so when you start noticing the strangeness in your friend. why is he acting strange? you don’t know. you can’t even put a finger on how he is out of the ordinary. perhaps it only came clear to you when he entered into the room once again. and this time, there’s two of your friend. you, him and him again, that makes it three. 

you’ve noticed the odd number in the room and now you’ve got your friend staring right at you. which one? the one that’s been in the room talking to you for the past twenty minutes. now you don’t know whose real anymore but don’t worry. your stare seems to make him fade into the shadow. what do you feel now? relaxed because there’s only two of you in the room or confused because one of them became a shadow?

spirits often visit us to spend some time as they are casted out their mortals shells to live an eternity in loneliness. strange isn’t it? they’d argue its only normal. 

you are deeply taken by the incident that took place before your very eyes and you have an itching thought in the back of your head that it’s probably just a hallucination. yeah, you’re probably being delusional and it’ll all go away once you wash your face. and you’re going to the bathroom to do just that and it takes you around five minutes to finish. you feel refreshed and you go back to your friend but you were late, your friend has already found company which he appears to be enjoying, you. no, not you, the other you. 

how would you feel if you saw yourself in the room talking to you friend? i was there and it felt normal. why? because they seemed to be doing the things i love doing and talking about the things i love talking about. i suddenly felt like the stranger in the room. however, it was short lived as i looked into my own eyes and i felt the other me slowly fade away into the shadows once again. 

to this date, i question what is normal because the stranger played a better me than myself. 

Waves Blogpost#9

Snippet from my previous work.

..- I remember that morning, the day it happened. Began like any other morning, honestly. I felt her soft lips press against my cheek as her fingertips ran through my unkempt hair. With eyes barely open, I smiled at her as I overheard the tides clashing against each other and settling by the shore. My eyes were stuck with the premature sunlight and I whispered just one thing by her ear, “five more minutes, baby.” She pulled the sheets from under me like the tides pull you into the water, I couldn’t resist letting out a soft chuckle as I lazily slid off the bed and onto my feet. Looked out the open window to see its already past nine, I could always tell time by looking at the sun. As usual my morning rituals happened in order and I head out afterwards to the shore, gripping my surf board close to my underarm. I heard her calling me from afar, I looked over my shoulder to see her waving to me, saying “Hey be careful okay! The tides are looking a little rough today!” to what I responded with confidence, “Today is just perfect!” It wasn’t, that day marked the first day of the rest of my life. The new life, eyes open to the reality and its movements. 

I took my turn, broad strokes and parting waters as I swam further into the sea. The waves were a little rough but I drove headstrong. Dipping every way, avoiding every clash and gliding smoothly along until I laid eyes on a monstrous wave heading my direction, I was foolish to even think I should attempt it. But, this is my destiny, that wave was written for me as I was to awake that day. I had fortified my mind and decided to go all in, as usual I took on the wave and transitioned smoothly into its trough. I felt the wave’s current on my fingertips as I went into what surfers call the “water hole of life”. I had felt alive, but it was short spanned. I lost balance due to the uneven amplitude of the wave and the crest swallowed me whole. I was engulfed by the trough as the wave settled over me and I went under. There was something with the waters that day, a surfer like myself should’ve been able to handle going under but the waters kept pulling me further.  -..

Guests Blogpost#7

I’m an anxious person, especially during those last few hours I prepare for the guest dinner.

The gang had been planning to gather at my place one fine Saturday night, I was excited to share my taste in food with the ones I’ve shared an epitome of my life with. My colleagues are probably the only people I’ve been so constantly in contact with. It’s weird as I’ve always been told that they’ve never really gotten along with their work mates and only around the occasions. I feel like I fit into the group and I was longing to sit by the table to share a meal. Everyone’s got a different taste but I’ve fine-tuned to balance out the flavorings severed. Starting from how green the celeries are to be and the garnish scent that floods the nose, always brings me a smile. Out of all senses, the sense of taste is the strongest. The most pungent of smells cannot compete with the euphoria a mouthful of delicious food can do.

And there I stood as the clock ticked closer to eight, crafting a masterpiece in the kitchen. Spice after spice, slice after slice, I let Mozart’s symphony flood my kitchen. I could almost picture the perfection.  The shortcut to cooking is non-existent; your efforts will be valuable. As for me, I’ve had a much reserved sense of flavor and been fond of handpicking what reaches the table, especially the meat. I’ve ensured every slice of potato and every drop of wine is of perfection. All that went through my mind while picking out that ’78 Cornac was how it’ll blend with the meat and my special seasoning.

Performing the last few touches to the meal, the doorbell rang for its first time in a while. I’ve never been a social person, I’ve barely had guests or even interactions for that matter. But it rang and one by one, I greeted my colleagues with a charismatic smile. The way Stephanie’s eye batted as she picked up the aroma from my kitchen was enough to satisfy my mind. All seven of them have come to my humble little home to share their minds for a vivid experience. Wine poured, small talk exchanged and knives set by the table, everything was ready. Exclamations and excitement were conveyed as soon as they started on my meal. I sat by in silence, enjoying the beauty of what I’ve given creation to. That is when Paul brought up the fun question, “Where is Tracy?”, oh little did Paul know, Tracy had already been here before the six arrived. I smiled away at the question with a shrug of my shoulders and the crowd responded the same. Tracy was the main course.

Victim Blogpost#5

What is experience? Being in the present.

I was present at the time, the night it happened.

Assumptions of isolation were uncalled for as I am omnipresent.

A witness to the crime, a loose end you cant tie.

I am a never ending experience, I am the third person who observed.

The act of taking a life, shunned upon by religion and morals.

Yet, the gun went off and so did the casing. Piercing through flesh like butter;

He fell. Fell along with the casing, meeting together at the finish, me.

I felt his weight lean against me as the gun howled into the murky skies.

Loud enough to wake the neighborhood and all the life around.

Her first reaction was human, her second was a common mixture of instinct and fear.

She ran, ran into the night, further and further away from me.

Further away from the victim and the witness, leaving him to bleed.

Bleed onto me, smearing me with the vitals of every human. 

Slowly fading into the great dreaming, to join his lost loves. Oncoming death.

The more she advanced away, the more I felt his weight.

I became his last touch, he would no longer experience after death.

She ran but the moon overheard the approach, the ever seeing moon glanced.

Glanced upon her with a frown. Creation being killed. I wasn't the only witness.

The skies, the birds, the animals, the trees. She gave no regard and sprinted.

I remained in the distance, watching her fall out of my sight.

Holding onto the victim and the casing, the evidence of murder.

But what was I doing? Nothing. Apart from experiencing helplessness in potency.

I was unable to move a finger, struck in trance of what I experienced.

Unable to help, unable to move and unable to utter a single cry for help.

Unable, unable. That word described me at present.

He was dying in my arms and there was nothing I could do about it.

I yearned for help, I wept without shedding a tear.

My prayers were answered by the sirens of an ambulance rushing towards me.

Perhaps they can still save him. But I couldn’t.

Why? Because I’m just a street it happened on that night.

A murder happened and I am 22^nd street.

A witness to the crime, holding onto the victim with blood pooling around me.

I was a victim as well that night, a victim to helplessness.